


Pretend Relationship

by MoriartyElias



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: F/F, Short One Shot, Tumblr Prompt, what even are these ship choices like i chose these but i don't know why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 05:07:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18491980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoriartyElias/pseuds/MoriartyElias
Summary: As part of a routine assignment, Ivrelya spends a lovely evening with House Dimir's single greatest assassin.





	Pretend Relationship

It was just a job.

Ivrelya was only a low-level informant in those days, carrying messages in between sleeper agents and reporting to shadowy figures. Of course, to even be aware that one was working for House Dimir was to be very high on the ladder indeed, but Ivrelya had never seen it that way. The way she saw things, there were the spies whose names were whispered in dark corners, and there was everyone else. She was part of the everyone else.

Then the invitation arrived on her desk. It was covered in golden filigree, and sparked when she touched it. A gala held to celebrate the ascendancy of Ral Zarek to the position of Izzet guildmaster. It would be a gaudy, thoughtless, unbearably loud affair, and even if half the guests wouldn’t be mumbling their report into what they thought was an empty corner of their house all the details were sure to reach the guild’s ears regardless. Iverlya could think of no reason to go.

“It’s just a job.”

The whisper just behind her ear was not startling to Ivrelya. She had grown very deliberately used to that sort of thing, in the interest of professionalism. All of the best spies were professional. No, what startled her was the tone of the voice, the lilting mockery that seemed to have perfectly read her mind.

“I understand, ma’am. I will go.” She bit her tongue at any thought of resistance; suffering through a noisy party was hardly the worst assignment she could be handed, and if she was being given instruction in person, then that meant this assignment might mean something.

“Very good.” The voice got closer by a fraction of an inch. “I expect nothing less than breathtaking evening dress. Go to the usual tailor in Bane Alley. Your companion will be wearing the latest Semple Black.”

Ivrelya had not been expecting that. At such a gala, there would have been no shortage of servants, and servants would be much more useful for information gathering. “Of course, ma’am. What is the nature of my relationship with said companion?”

She could _feel_ the smile. “For the purposes of this assignment, you are lovers. Once you rendezvous, you will not be able to leave her side. Is that clear?”

“Absolutely.”

~

Ivrelya made it about two steps into the gala before going deaf. She had prepared for it, of course, but it was still uncomfortable to have a firecracker go off two inches from her face. At least her shades had activated in time, and she had salvaged the use of her eyes. So far, a disastrous start to the evening.

And then, she beheld her companion.

The Semple Black was an oblivion of a dress, the blackness of starless night wrapped around the tailor’s little finger and twisted into an impossible poem celebrating the peerless form of the wearer. It was not an easy dress, but this woman almost made it look ratty. Her skin was a deep russet brown, and her raven-dark hair had been coiffed up into the most bourgeois mohawk that Ivralya had ever seen. The woman was turning an empty wine glass lazily in her hand, and giving her a lazy look that felt warmer than all the fires of Rakdos.

It felt like the easiest thing in the world to be this woman’s lover.

There was a slight quirk to her companion’s eyebrow when Ivrelya began to sign, but it softened into a demure smile as the explanation took shape. The wine glass was passed off to a waiter and she began to glide across the banquet hall, her hands tracing a response.

“Think nothing of it, darling.” There was a distinct accent to the signs, a practice that had nothing to do with muscle memory and everything to do with control of everything her body was doing. “May I say, you look ravishing tonight.”

Ivrelya glanced down at herself and blushed. The tailor had taken her instructions even more seriously than her, outfitting her in a brilliant blue dress that must have cost as much as a two-room house in the Tenth. It hugged her body in ways that she hadn’t been designed to fit, but every curve had somehow been transformed into an outrageous statement, an oceanic storm of blue that made her shine like a sapphire in a sea of sparkling, crumbling rubies. It was a dress that demanded acknowledgment, that was not content with a second glance and would squeeze a third and fourth out of even the most disinterested passerby.

“Thank you” was all she could think to sign, and then her lover was before her and leaning in to place a delicate kiss just to the left of her lips. In that brief moment of contact, a series of quick taps with the tongue, a code reassuring her that Ivrelya was in control here. There would be no breach of trust or personal space, not even on the job.

“You’re so reserved tonight,” she signed, double-talking just in case someone at this party could read. “What happened to your usual gusto?”

The smile that her companion flashed at her was cat-like, poised to attack and utterly fascinated by its prey. She signed “As you wish” in a brief flurry of signs, and then dove into a proper kiss.

Between that gesture and all the various little ways that Ivrelya’s companion decided to play into the role, she never got around to asking what the assignment was. Any time she thought to ask she was being offered an adorably tiny piece of cheese, or blushing as she was talked up to all kinds of party guests, and at one point being very gently pulled down a secluded hallway.

“Who are you?” she asked several hours later, now quite confident that her ears had healed enough to make out the answer. The mysterious woman beside her turned and smiled.

“My name is Etrata. You might know me better as the Silencer.”

It took ten minutes for Ivrelya to stop blushing. When the invincible vampire assassin quietly asked if she could stay, she grinned like a piranha hearing the world’s greatest joke.

“As you wish.”

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Month of the Ship on Tumblr! Check it out @themagicharbor!


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